


french 75

by jaimelanniser



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bartender AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12014058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/pseuds/jaimelanniser
Summary: Bartender Jon climbing over the bar to stop the guy hassling Sansa in the booth she’s waiting for her friends in.





	french 75

**Author's Note:**

> based off @theonbaejoy and @soapieturner's (on tumblr) prompt list

The bar was pretty packed when Sansa stepped in, the door shutting behind her automatically and causing a gust of the cold air from outside to prickle the hairs on the back of her neck.

It was warm inside however, thankfully, so she shrugged off her coat, craning her neck to look around the premises to see if Marg or Jeyne had arrived yet. There was the loud chatter of people, drinks clinking against each other, the occasional cheer from the classic drunk blokes in the corner; typical bar scene.

She would have gotten there later — after all, they had said seven, not six thirty — but class had wrapped up sooner than she had expected, and rather than wait at uni, she had walked here before. What was one extra drink while she waited for the girls to join her?

Slinging her coat unto her elbow, Sansa made her way through the bodies towards the bar, glancing at the labels on the beer taps pensively. She waited patiently for the couple people to her side to finish ordering their drinks before stepping up to the till just as the bartender on shift turned to face her. His hair was pulled back into a bun but he had loose curls on either side of his face and flopping onto his forehead, and Sansa found him rather cute. “Hi,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Hello,” he returned with one of his own, all white teeth and dimpled.  _Of course_  he’d be dimpled. “What would you like?”

Sansa drummed her fingers on the bartop a little bit, suddenly caught between getting her usual glass of Prosecco or a more low key pint. “Any recommendations?” she settled for, perhaps lilting her voice somewhat.

The guy smirked a half-smile and reached over to rest his hand on the tap nearest to him. “House beer’s pretty good, but you look like you drink something fancier?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted, slyly, catching his eye and darting her glance off when he didn’t look away. She was hardly be the first girl to flirt with a bartender. “Surprise me, then.”

With a quick raising of his eyebrows — she might have missed it if she hadn’t been staring — the guy nodded and turned his back to her as he fixed something up. Sansa couldn’t help but flick her eyes down to his bum, clad in black jeans, but it was too dark to make it out properly. God, she was being quite inappropriate. But she hadn’t gotten laid in  _months_ , so could you blame her for checking out a fittie?

“Evening, gorgeous,” came a voice, and Sansa snapped her face back to the guy in front of her. Blonde, rather thin, with eyes green like emeralds and a face that might have been attractive if it hadn’t been giving her a look that was frankly, creepy. “You alone tonight?”

“Uhm, no,” Sansa responded, quickly. “I’m here with friends. Just… waiting for my drink.” She motioned feebly behind the bar.

“I’m Joff,” the guy told her, unprompted, and grinned. The smile sent a shiver up her spine and she returned it half-heartedly. “What’s your name?”

She pressed her lips together, trying to convey that she was uncomfortable. “Sorry, I don’t really give out my name to strangers.”

Joff laughed, shortly. “Now, what sort of bullshit excuse is that, hun? C’mon, sit with me a while.” He reached out to touch her elbow, but she recoiled, dragging it back towards her body where it had been resting on the bar.

“I don’t think so.”

“Miss?”

The bartender’s voice was like a song to her, and Sansa turned to him gratefully, turning her back on the other bloke. “Hi!” she said, cheerfully, perhaps over the top, and her eyes were a bit wide, and the bartender’s gaze flickered to the guy beside her for a moment before turning back to her, a frown lining his eyes as he set the drink down in front of her. “Oh, thank you so much, what is this?” she asked, aware that she was being too unnecessarily loud, but when she glanced over her shoulder, Joff was gone.

“French 75,” he announced with a small smile, leaning forward on the table. “Gin and champagne based, with lemon and a touch of sweetness.”

Sansa leaned foward as well and took a small sip of the drink, letting the acid taste of lemon sit on her tongue before she swallowed the sparkling drink. “Mmm,” she hummed appreciatively, widening her eyes at him. “I  _adore_ lemon, how’d you guess? This is brilliant, thank you,” she said earnestly.

The bartender grinned, his eyes crinkling at the sides very sweetly. “Lucky guess,” he told her, turning back to the till to ring up her drink. He glanced up at her for a second, paused, then seemingly shook his head a bit and pushed at the numbers on the machine. “That’ll be £5,” he told her.

Sansa dipped into her purse for her card and held it out to him between her fingers, then paused, frowning. “Five pounds for  _this_? Are you sure?” she asked, skeptical. The guy took her card. “For the drink you initially wanted to order. Changing it up to this is on the house.” He swiped her card and held out the paper for her to sign with a pen.

She felt a flush on her cheeks; that was him flirting back, wasn’t it? Or was he merely doing good business, knowing she’d likely be back for another? She knew nothing about him. Not even his name. Taking the pen, she scrawled her signature on the line and handed it back to him before tucking her card into her wallet again. “Well, thank you,” she told him, honestly, with a smile. “May I ask your name? For when I’m back for my second glass?”

“Jon,” he replied, quickly, his eyes still seemingly searching her own, the crinkles still there.

“Jon,” she echoed, nodding to herself. “Thank you very much, Jon.” And, lifting her glass up to him, she turned on the spot and headed to find an empty booth to wait for her friends in, her stomach having flipped happily.

There was one in the far corner, thankfully, and Sansa tossed her coat onto one of the seats before sliding into the other, setting her drink down in front of her and taking out her phone. She shot out a quick text to the group chat “starting on my first drink, don’t make me that girl alone in the corner…” and lowered her phone, her eyes dropping to the drink in front of her.

It really was a nice cocktail, tall glass with bubbles lining its sides and a thin curl of lemon skin at the bottom. Smiling to herself, she swiped to the camera on her phone and leaned to the side to take a pretty picture of it. Definitely Instagram worthy. Tapping open the app, she began to edit the picture for posting, when somebody came up beside her again.

Peering up, half expecting it to be Jon with his dimpled smile and crinkly eyes and man bun, she was unpleasantly surprised to find the creepy blonde from the bar instead, leaning against her seat, standing between the table and wall in which, she realised as her stomach dropped, her only exit stood.

“Hi again,” he drawled. “Where are your friends?”

_Don’t panic,_  Sansa thought to herself.  _Just because he’s a creep doesn’t mean he’s going to do anything to you._ She clenched her jaw all the same. “On their way,” she replied simply, avoiding his eyes.

“Mind if I keep you company while you wait, then?” he asked — but no, it wasn’t really posed as a question. “You look like you could use some.”

“Actually, I quite like being alone,” she replied as bravely as she could, offering him a sad smile. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

But even that was too subtle for him, it seemed. Or he was too persistent. “Nobody likes being alone,” he shot back. “You gonna tell me your name or do you still have a stick up your arse?”

Sansa scoffed, frowning at him. “Excuse me?” Her hand automatically dropped down to where her purse lay on her lap, and she wrapped her fingers around her house keys, just in case.

“Don’t take offense, darling. I’m just trying to be nice.” Joff leaned forward so his knees were pressed up against the edge of the seat of the booth. She felt the material dent next to her and shifted away from him, her knees pressing together towards him. “You’re the only pretty girl in this bar tonight. Can’t blame me for wanting to talk to you, can you?”

“Please leave me alone,” she said, shortly, done with pleasantries. “Or I’ll call security.”

Joff had the audacity to smirk at that. “You gonna call security on  _me?_  How’re you gonna do that, princess?”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, her palm starting to ache from how tightly she was holding her keys. “You’re harassing me. Stop.”

“I’m not ha—“

But Sansa was not able to hear him claim the opposite because Joff’s shoulder was roughly yanked back, and he stumbled away from the booth with a yelp. “Did you not hear her tell you to  _stop?_ ”

Her bartender, Jon, was gripping the guy’s shoulder, his stance wide, eyes dark, the beard over his lip twitching angrily as he glared at him. “Get out.”

Joff tried to shove him off him. “I’m not going anyw—“

“Get  _OUT_ or I’ll call the police!” Jon shouted. The bar had gone quiet. The only sound, Sansa felt, was that of her own heart, still beating rapidly in her chest, so loud she could hear it thrumming in her ears.

The guy took another step back, managing to get out of his grasp. “Fuck you,” he spat at him, angrily turning towards her — her stomach made another jolt — “Cunt,” he hissed, adjusting his shirt.

Too quickly, Sansa almost didn’t realise what was happening, and Jon had him by the front of the shirt, pressed up against a wall, face hovering close. “Say that again,” he whispered dangerously. “I  _dare_ you.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” came another voice. A woman, probably senior staff, walked up to them, tapped Jon on the shoulder until he let Joff go. “Sir, please leave the premises this moment.”

Without another word, Joff shoved past Jon, careful to knock into his shoulder, and streamlined the hell out of there, while every eye in the place watched him go; the door slammed on his way out, and it was only because she followed him with her gaze that she noticed Margaery and Jeyne standing near the entrance, coats in hand, gaping open-mouthed back at her.

Murmuring started back up as the woman nodded at Jon and turned back towards the bar. Until, she realised, it was only him and her near her booth. Jon had his lips pressed together and he wasn’t looking at her, and Sansa wanted to kiss him.

“I haven’t fancied a knight in shining armour since I was twelve, but I think you just brought that all back for me,” she piped up, quietly.

Jon turned towards her; she could see his face was also red. From residual anger? Embarrassment? She couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry for all that,” he muttered awkwardly, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Sorry?” Sansa scoffed, loosening her fingers around her keys and rubbing them with her thumb while she shook her head at him, and smiled. “God, no,” she laughed. “ _Thank_  you. I owe you so much.”

Jon shook his head. “You don’t owe me a thing, it was the decent thing to do.”

“How about a drink?” she offered, quickly, before he could walk away. He hesitated, looking at her quizzically. “After your shift is over. Maybe you’d like to have a drink with me?” Her heart was speeding up again, but for an entirely different reason. “I have good evidence that you’re good at those.”

Jon glanced at her  _French 75_  and chuckled to himself, his voice low, but he nodded, eventually, with a smile. “I’d love a drink. I’m off at ten.” And, with another look at her, turned back towards the bar, eyes following him as he went.

Heart still beating at her throat, Sansa settled into her seat and watched as her two friends rushed over to her, eyes wide and mouthing ‘oh my god, oh my god, oh my god’ as they slid into the seat in front of her.

Margaery immediately took both of her hands. “Are you  _okay!?_ What the bloody hell just happened?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” she said, still smiling despite herself. “Some creep was being awful but I’m okay.”

The second she affirmed that she was alright, Margaery had nodded and taken a sip of her drink. “Good. Now we’re going to talk about how we just watched a bearded bartender with a man bun throw himself  _over the bar_  to come to your rescue.”


End file.
